I Win
by skygirl55
Summary: Post-"Still" My version of what happened when Beckett returned to her apartment. One-Shot.


Stepping through the doorway to her apartment felt like a syphon funneling the last few drops of energy from her body, leaving her tank far below that red line indicating empty. She shuffled forward on auto-pilot, dropping her keys into the green ceramic bowl by the door, pulling her service piece from its holster and putting it safely away in the top drawer of the wooden table by the door. She lifted one leg and leaned down to unzip the boot she wore, but faltered. A strong hand caught her arm and held her steady as she unzipped one boot, kicked it off and did the same with the other.

"Let me make you something to eat," he said softly.

"Not hungry," she replied. Truthfully, she was not sure she could even muster the energy to chew.

"Kate, you have to eat something. I can run out and-"

"No," she told him, taking a few steps in to her kitchen. She knew by the time he returned with food—even if he was just running to the corner Chinese place she wasn't really a fan of—she'd be passed out from exhaustion.

"Kate," he said, his tone even softer. His hand brushed across her shoulder and rested gently at the base of her neck. She glanced up at him and offered a meek smile before crossing the kitchen.

She retrieved a half gallon of milk from the fridge, two bowls and two spoons from the cabinet and two boxes of cereal from her pantry: her selection of Honey Nut Cheerios and the only cereal he ate—Cap'n Crunch. Whenever she was in one of her two-exhausted-to-even-comprehend-ordering-food moods cereal was her meal of choice. While her companion could eat eggs, pancakes or other breakfast foods at any time of the day, for an inexplicable reason he drew the line at cereal. This probably was because he was not a huge fan of cereal as a breakfast choice—it always left him too hungry, or so he said—but he could be persuaded for Cap'n Crunch…and also for fear of her wrath.

During the next few minutes, the only sounds filling her apartment were that of spoons clinking against bowls and the muted munching of not-yet-soggy cereal. While Kate delicately spooned the last bit of cereal milk from her bowl, Rick preferred to slurp it from the source, which succeeded in him slopping some on the table and his lap. Normally, this would elicit and eye roll and mockery from her but her mind was preoccupied with other things, so she merely shoved a napkin in front of him before taking her bowl and placing it in the sink.

"Gonna shower," she said simply. A nice, warm shower was exactly what she needed before she crashed into her bed for the next…oh, several days seemed appropriate.

In the bathroom, she walked past the mirror and did a double take at her own reflection. It startled her in an inexplicable way, as though she never expected to see it again. Oh right, she reminded herself, she hadn't. She stopped and looked, examining the smudges of eyeliner and mascara under her eyes from the tears that had fallen. She brought her right hand up and ran it under her eye. From the reflection, she could see her fingers trembling and looked down at her own hands, just then feeling them shake. She realized they'd probably been shaking that whole time, she'd merely grown used to it. She took a deep breath and shook her head, turning her attention on the shower.

After cranking the water on hot she shed her clothes efficiently and stepped beneath the spray. She let the water cascade over her face before turning and letting it soak her hair as she fingered through it. When she turned back around, she reached out for the bar of soap sitting on the closest shower ledge. Her trembling fingers struggled to grasp the slippery item. She used both hands to pry it from where it had dried and stuck to the shelf only to have it slip through her grasp and clatter at her feet.

This simple failure unleashed the floodgates of emotion she'd been holding in for the prior seven hours, the whole time she was on the bomb, the whole time she was writing up her statement for Gates. Every single moment flooded out as wracking sobs took over her body. She brought her hands up to cover her face, but her trembling hands unnerved her as they tremored against her skin, so she slid her hands down to cup each of her elbows, but she could still feel it. She groped in front of her, her fingertips skimming the cool tile, but never gripping, just sliding along due to their wetness. Just as she felt she could stand no longer, a strong arm slid around her waist and drew her in.

"Shh Kate," he hushed her. "It's okay; you're okay. You're safe now; you're safe."

She hung there for a moment, two thirds of her body weight supported by his arm before her feet found ground enough for her to spin around and collapse into the safety net that was his embrace. How did he know? How did he always know exactly when she needed him?

He pulled her in, his strong arms locking around her, one hand holding her tight, the other stroking her hair as he told her over and over again everything would just fine.

In his embrace she sobbed like she hadn't in years. Deep, guttural sobs that only happened after a truly traumatic event. In the past, she hadn't let anyone see that side of her. After her mother passed, she locked herself in her room, turned on music and crawled under the covers of her bed before crying that hard. She wanted to be strong—she needed to be strong—and didn't want anyone to see her weakness, but with him, it didn't feel like a weakness. Crying in his arms felt like affirmation that everything would be okay; everything already was okay.

As her tears grew less frequent they shifted their position in the shower and his foot caught the edge of the bar of soap on the floor. "Woah," he exclaimed, slamming one of his hands against the tile wall to right himself. He momentarily slid from her embrace and picked up the bar. "That could have ended badly," he said, examining it as though it was a never before seen weapon.

Despite her tears, a light chuckle escaped her lips as she plucked the soap from his grasp and used it to suds a nearby washcloth.

"Seriously," he continued. "I wonder how many people die each year from slipping on soap and falling in their showers? Death by soap—could an M.E. rule that as a manor of death?"

"I dunno Castle," she said, sniffing slightly. "You'll have to ask Lanie."

"Oh," he said, taking the washcloth from her and running it across her back, "I will."

After showering efficiently, Kate stepped from the shower to find that her crying jag had drained even more of her energy, if that was even possible. She grabbed a new fluffy white towel from the shelf, handed it to her companion (who was still going on about soap-related deaths) and picked up another for herself.

"…hmm I wonder how I can work that in to my next book." He concluded as he vigorously rubbed the towel over his hair.

"What? Killer soap?" she asked absentmindedly.

"Oh well," he said with a sly grin. "Killer soap is _completely_ different than being killed _by_ soap. I'm thinking a giant bar of soap stomping through Central Park leaving a trail of poison suds behind it…but that brings a whole sci-fi element that I'm not sure Nikki Heat is ready for," he rationalized.

As she wrapped the towel around her body Kate looked up at him with one of her many "What the hell is he talking about?" expressions, which, per usual, he ignored completely.

Exiting the bathroom, Kate shuffled her way in to the bedroom and paused at the foot of the bed. For a moment she contemplated just collapsing naked under the covers, but then thought better of it. Whenever she slept in the nude, her boyfriend tended to be quite frisky all night long. Normally, frisky was something she enjoyed, but it was not something she was up for that particular night.

After changing in to the first tank top and shorts she pulled from her pajama drawer, she slipped into bed. He followed a moment later, completely spooning himself against her, wrapping an arm around her waist and dropping a kiss on to her shoulder. They lay in silence for a few moments before she asked quietly, "Was there ever a moment?"

He waited for her to continue her thought, but when she didn't he asked, "A moment of what?"

"A moment…a moment when you thought we wouldn't get the code in time; that the bomb would go off." Her voice dropped down to barely above a whisper after speaking the word "bomb."

He spoke factually. "That wasn't an option."

"But didn't you think about it?"

"No, because it wasn't an option."

She let out a frustrated groan. "So you're telling me that you didn't have one second of doubt."

Without letting a beat go by he told her, "No, I didn't. Losing you is never an option, Kate."

She rolled on to her back so she could look over her shoulder and see his face in the dim light of the room. Her mind was spinning, taking her back to those heart shattering moments as she stood frozen on the spot she feared would be her demise. "But you were there, Castle; you would have d…" she couldn't say the word—it was still too fresh, too raw.

"Yes, and we're partners, Kate; I'm with you to the very end. Always."

Her eyes drifted shut as her favorite word escaped his lips. She put her hand on top of his and pulled it tighter around her, snuggling back against his chest. "I love you," she sighed, the words once so terrifying now seemed so easy; so simple.

"Hey," he said, his tone a bit louder. "You know we never decided."

"Decided what?" she asked, her tone sleepier.

"Who fell for whom first."

Her eyes snapped open. "Seriously!?"

"Absolutely—it's a serious question. So tell me. When?"

"When what?"

"You know what."

She bit her lip and let out a slow exhale. Crying in front of him she could do. Sharing everything about her mother's case? Piece of cake. She could even tell him those three little words, but this? "You first," she said.

He was quiet for a moment as he formulated his thoughts. He knew the moment well and played it in his mind often—more so before they got together, but he still did it enough to have every second memorized. Formulating the words, how he felt—that was more difficult. "When your apartment blew up. I thought I lost you—I mean, I really thought you were gone. That's when I realized how much I cared. How it was more than just a crush. It was only a few weeks after that when I saw The Bucket List on cable and I wrote my list. I knew I wanted to be with you then but when we kissed for the first time…" He let that moment hang in the air as he closed his eyes and remembered it; savored it. "I knew I'd never be the same again."

His confession welled more tears in her eyes and she laced her fingers through his, but said nothing until she felt his lips against her ear whisper, "You're turn."

"I, um," she cleared her throat. "When…when you invited me to the Hamptons three summers ago. I…I was going to say yes. I was going to say yes even after I thought that maybe we'd…," she swallowed, "get a little closer if I did that."

"And by closer you mean-"

"Yes," she said in an almost self-loathing way. Though she couldn't see him, she could feel his grin and it made her want to punch him. "But…then things happened and yes, there was the kiss but…but it was in LA when we were investigating Royce's murder. That's when I knew—that's when I admitted to myself that I loved you." She felt a blush creep in to her cheek as she spoke and was glad the room was too dark for him to see. She remembered that night as though it was only a few before. She could still feel the cool metal of the doorknob handle beneath her skin as she finally admitted to herself that yes, she wanted him, more than she ever thought she could.

He sighed and pressed his lips against her cheek. "You know what this means? I win."

"You win?" she repeated incredulously as her eyes snapped open. Why was it that moments earlier she was exhausted, but bickering with him always made her feel so…alive?

"Yes, I win. I loved you first—we just proved it."

"How is this even a competition?"

"Doesn't matter. I still win," he insisted.

"You win," she echoed monotonously.

"Yes, thank you for acknowledging it. So what's my prize?"

She rolled over completely so she was facing him. "Oh you're expecting a prize now?"

"Yes. Don't you have one ready?"

His cocky tone caused a wry smile to grow across her face. "It is short notice but," she paused to sling one of her legs over his hips and hook her heel around the back of his knee. She moved her lips within a centimeter of his before whispering, "I think I can come up with something."


End file.
